Bazinga: Professional Mole Hunter, Part-Time Pub Regular

In memory of one big-hearted, snack-driven, dirt-digging, terrace-sitting gentleman… Bazinga. 🐾

Bazinga

You were never just a dog

not really—

you were a presence,

a soft, stubborn heartbeat

wrapped in fur

and quiet determination.

A husky with a mission:

mole patrol.

Nose to earth,

digging like the world depended on it,

as if somewhere beneath the soil

was a secret only you could uncover.

Always hungry—

oh, gloriously so—

five pig ears a day, in your dreams,

one in reality,

and still you looked at life like

it was a feast worth showing up for.

You had your places, too.

Your pub.

Your terrace.

Your seat in the sun

like a regular who belonged,

watching the world go by

as if you’d seen it all

and approved.

And then there was your quiet bravery—

the physio table,

the careful hands on your back,

and you…

tucking your head into my armpit,

not for treats,

but for trust.

That kind of trust

is sacred.

You gave it freely.

In the water,

you rose again—

stepping harder,

stronger,

and you looked at me

with that smile…

That proud, gentle,

“Look, I’m doing it” smile.

As if the effort itself

was something to celebrate.

And it was.

You were.

Circles for treats,

balancing on three legs,

up and down that tiny step

like it was a mountain conquered—

You showed up.

Again and again.

Not perfectly.

But fully.

And that’s what made you unforgettable.

We only had a moment, really—

just one sit,

a glimpse of something more

that was meant to come.

But sometimes

a moment is enough

to recognise

a favourite.

To know this one mattered.

And you did.

Still do.

So somewhere—where the ground is soft

and the moles are plentiful,

where pig ears are endless

and no one counts them—

I hope you’re digging,

and resting,

and sitting in the sun again.

Proud.

Loved.

Whole.

Just as you always were. 🐾💛